


From A Certain Point Of View

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship, POV Outsider, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of friendship, love, and best-laid plans; small gestures and public displays of possessiveness; enlightenment, advice to young padawans, and the loyalty routines of JARVIS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Avengerskink prompt** : _I love outsider POV, and we have not had enough of it...so I'll leave this fairly open ended, outsider POV as someone (though not Tony or Loki, please) begins a relationship with Steve._
> 
> _POV can be the other Avengers, Pepper/Darcy/Jane/Betty/whomever, Coulson/SHIELD agents, an OC, whoever you want, or a mix of folk._   
>  _\+ if you have multiple people talking about it, an argument erupts over Steve's level of experience_   
>  _\+ Steve is completely clueless, outsider(s) debate whether to intervene_

At 1800 hours, Nick logs off the system, switches off his headset, and goes for a walk through the corridors of the helicarrier. He nods at his people, drops in on a number of pet projects, and makes his roundabout way to a room that isn’t displayed on the helicarrier blueprints.

Inside, a man lies in a hospital gown, recuperating from an alien spear through the chest with a sheaf of reports on the Chitauri invasion.

Phil Coulson glances up. “Bad day?”

“Nobody we didn’t want dead died.”

“That’s a good start.”

“How’s the chest?”

The injury was serious – eight hours on the operating table, while the Avengers saved the world. It was close. And that’s an understatement.

However, Phil survived. Which Nick is infinitely grateful for, because as glad as he is that the Avengers came on board, there’s a raft of other issues at play right now which is making his life complicated. As if it wasn’t already.

“Still sore. No coughing blood today, though.” Phil cocks his head. “What’s up?”

“It’s Hill.”

Phil’s expression transforms into an ‘oh’ of understanding. “Our little girl’s all grown up and blackmailing the Council. Kicked a little too hard, did she?”

“Like a hornets’ nest. They’re out for blood – preferably mine, but they’ll settle for hers in a pinch.” Nick sits back in the chair. “ _Someone’s_ got to be at fault after all, and we don’t have Loki for the public hanging.”

“Let me guess: ‘Hill allowed Loki to escape with the Tesseract’?”

“By that token, so did I,” Fury drawls. “I’d rather not leave her in the line of fire - even if she can dodge fine herself.”

“Another posting?”

“Doing that would state outright I lack confidence in her ability to handle herself.”

“And you’d rather be sneaky about it?”

“I’d rather not start any more international incidents. Remember Madripoor?”

“I try not to,” A storm of coughing catches Phil’s laugh, shaking him like a leaf, but he holds up a hand to stop Nick from calling the duty nurse. “Don’t fuss, sir, I’m fine.” He takes a few slow, careful breaths, then asks, “Who’s following up Loki’s mercenaries?”

“Thorpe has the brief.”

“New York clean-up crews?”

“Jasper’s on that.”

“And I’m supposed to be managing the Avengers. If I ever make it out of here.” Phil eases himself back in the pillows. “Put Maria on them.”

Nick snorts. “I thought about it. But you know how she feels about the Avengers Initiative.”

“She doesn’t know them,” Phil says. “Not yet. She’ll need to if she’s gunning for your job.”

“Did you have to use the word ‘gunning’?”

“You knew she was live ammo when you brought her in,” Phil points out. “I’m just saying that it might do to get her used to the Avengers.”

“And get them used to taking commands from S.H.I.E.L.D. under the guise of advice and guidance?” Nick asks, shrewdly. “Agent Coulson, are you using Lieutenant Hill as _tenderiser_?”

“Hook her up with Rogers,” is all Phil says. “He’s a natural leader, and he’ll respect her boundaries, but he won’t let her tread on his toes.”

* * *

Thor is on his way to the dining chambers to fetch lunch for Jane (who has once again forgotten to eat in her preoccupation over the most recent work) when familiar voices catches his ear.

“You realise you don’t have to do that, Captain?”

“Humour me, Lieutenant. Just walk through the door since it’s damn well open.”

Thor turns and steps back to the corridor he just passed, where Lieuenant Hill is walking out of a side room, her lips pressed firmly together. Behind her, with a matching expression of annoyance, Steve Rogers allows the door to close behind them.

“Times have changed,” Lieutenant Hill is saying. “Women no longer expect to have the door opened for them.”

“Times may have changed but I haven’t.”

“You can, though.” She points this out with the cool logic that Thor knows infuriates many of his fellow Avengers – Steve among them. “And you’d better. It’s not necessary anymore, Rogers. Let whoever’s in front push open the door and just go through it. No-one will think the worse of you.”

Steve grimaces. “But _I’ll_ think the worse of _me_. So I’ll continue to open doors and stand when a woman enters the room, unless it’s considered impolite. Although I don’t see how courtesy can possibly be rude.”

“You’d be surprised,” is all the lieutenant remarks as they start walking towards Thor, brisk and no-nonsense.

“I...” Steve sees him, lifting a hand in greeting but continuing to speak to the Lieutenant as they approach Thor. “I’d say nothing would surprise me about the future, but I said that already and ended up owing Fury ten bucks. Thor.”

“Steve. Lieutenant Hill. I am on my way to get lunch for Jane – perhaps you will join us as we eat?” Lieutenant Hill opens her mouth to refuse, and Thor adds persuasively, “I believe Jane is more likely to take a break if there are others to draw her attention away from her work.”

“Sure.” Steve glances down at the lieutenant, a smile playing about his lips. “We can continue this argument over lunch, Lieutenant?”

“Was it an argument?” One corner of the lieutenant’s mouth twitches upwards. “I thought it was a conversation on the changing nature of courtesy. I can’t in any case, Thor. I have a meeting at 1300 hours for which I need to prepare. Please make my apologies to Dr. Foster.” She touches Steve’s arm. “I can discuss the Lensherr situation later if you need clarification. Check my schedule.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolls her eyes and heads off back the way Thor came. “Enjoy lunch.”

They watch her walk away, a woman with her own mind and goals, direct as a thrown knife, sharp as a sword. Thor can admire the generalities of such a woman, even if he is not interested in the specifics.

“As you see, she doesn’t take prisoners,” Steve says with a shake of his head.

Thor grins and claps the other man on the shoulder. “She minds me somewhat of Sif – or of the Valkyries back home. Either way, I would not wish to be on her bad side.”

“Too late for that.” They start walking towards the dining chambers. “She doesn’t like superheroes much.”

“She appears to enjoying your verbal sparring.”

The other man smiles, a little rueful, a little wry. “We’ve signed a truce. It’s not quite an armistice, but it holds. And Maria – Lieutenant Hill – is an insight into S.H.I.E.L.D. and just how much things have changed. For women in particular.”

Steve’s eyes go distant and Thor recalls what he knows of the other man – the knowledge that is common here but which required explanation – from Jane, from Darcy, from Bruce, and from Steve himself. There was a female agent with whom Steve worked and was friends all those years ago. Doubtless he thinks of her in the comparison with Lieutenant Hill.

“As Sif might say, she appreciates my assistance but it is not required, especially not when she must battle the expectations of her on top of the enemies we fight.”

“It’s better now,” Steve says after a moment. “At least, here it is, but from the look of things, it’s still not easy.”

“It gives one an appreciation for what they achieve.” Thor thinks of Sif and her bright, bladed certainty. “I must bring Sif to Midgard sometime and introduce her to Lieutenant Hill.”

Steve grins then, broad and bright as a shout of laughter. “Thor, are you _trying_ to level New York?”

Thor considers this for a moment. “On second thought, perhaps not.”

* * *

Someone – Bruce doesn’t know who – called it a sandworm. Someone else at S.H.I.E.L.D. – Bruce also doesn’t know who – will probably give it a technical, biological name that he hopes will not be _g_ _eonemotodium Arraknis_ but will certainly be forgotten within the week as everyone ends up calling it ‘the sandworm’.

Whatever it is, it’s huge, it’s dead, and it stinks.

“Classic sci-fi/fantasy,” he tells Steve, feeling a little awkward as he wraps himself up in the burnous-like robe the locals gave him after he transformed back from the Hulk. He’d like a headcloth, because the midafternoon sun is making his hair burn and his eyes ache, but he’ll survive. “It’s after your time. I’ll loan you the books. There are movies and a couple of TV series but they’re not very good.”

“I was thinking the look is very _Lawrence of Arabia_ on you. Gone native.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, although it’s the wrong country,” Bruce remarks, staring out over the heavy sand dunes and too-bright sun of the Sahara desert. Over by the landed Quinjet, Agent Hill is conferring with a group of locals and a man who’s dressed like one of the locals but quite clearly isn’t one. “Unfortunately _Lawrence of Libya_ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

“Not quite.” Steve agrees and shades his eyes against the setting sun. “Are those Quinjets coming in?”

“Probably.” Bruce looks around at the carnage and the locals who are standing on the ridges of the dunes, watching them with curious eyes. “They need to get the thing out of here somehow. I wonder where they’re going to take it. It’s not exactly something you put on the helicarrier...”

He also wonders if he’d be allowed to study it – although S.H.I.E.L.D. will have xenobiologists to work on this, Bruce can’t help feeling a small amount of possessive interest in the sandworm – after all, he helped bring it down.

“I could ask Maria if you like.” Steve’s head turns to where the slim figure is now walking back to them, her arms bare and bright in the light of the late afternoon, her hair tied back in a ponytail as she touches her fingers to her earpiece, probably calling Fury to let him know the situation’s been dealt with and clean-up is imminent.

 _Maria, is it?_ Bruce thinks as the Hulk chuckles inside him. According to Tony, Steve’s been stuck working with Hill – ‘liaising’ with S.H.I.E.L.D. Of course, when Tony talks about it, he references in a pitying tone of voice, as though Steve’s being kept in detention.

Somehow, given the intensity on Steve’s face as he watches Agent Hill coming towards them, Bruce doubts the other man thinks of time spent with Hill as a punishment.

“Don’t worry, I’ll ask when she comes over,” he says, but Steve isn’t listening, his eyes narrowed.

“Maria?”

Bruce turns, even as Steve strides forward to where Hill has stopped halfway down the dunes, her eyes wide, her face suddenly stiff and startled in the bright afternoon. She takes a step back as Steve reaches her – not rejection, just shock. One hand gropes behind her, as though seeking support. Bruce hurries towards them – anything that could send ‘hardass Hill’ into shock has got to be bad.

Steve provides stability by grabbing her shoulders. “What is it?”

She rallies, pushing him away, and interestingly – at least to Bruce – Steve lets her go, although he doesn’t move away.

“You initiated the Persephone Protocols,” she says to the person on the other end of the line. Her voice is flat, and now that he draws close, Bruce can see the tightness about her eyes, the flare of her nostrils. “And _when_ exactly were you planning to inform me of this, sir?” Her lips press into a very straight line that conveys a wealth of emotion in very little expression, and her voice parcels out words with biting precision. “I see. May I speak—? Very well, Director. We’ll be en route as soon as the clean-up crews get here – that’s Rogers and Banner as well as myself. ETA the helicarrier in an hour. Hill, out.”

She stands quite still after the call ends, her hands closing into fists by her sides. Then – suddenly, startlingly – she thumps the bottom of her fist on Steve’s shield, which he’s still carrying on his arm. It’s not much of a noise since it’s vibranium and she’s only human. And it doesn’t seem to assauge her frustration, so she does it again, this time with a little noise of rage.

Bruce thinks that either she’s so furious she’s forgotten she has an audience, or she must really trust Steve – and Bruce.

“Hey!” Steve catches her hand and covers it with his own. “Maria, don’t. What’s happened?”

Agent Hill looks up at him, her eyes bright and crystal-sharp with anger and disbelief and betrayal. “Phil’s alive,” she says, and her voice shakes a little. “Fury lied to me. Phil survived.”

* * *

A junior agent looks up from his tablet, sees Phil coming down the hall towards him, and walks blindly into the engineer backing out of the elevator.

Phil sighs as the boxes wobble and tumble, then steps around the crash site and takes the junior agent – Nathan Gibson – by the shoulders, propelling him out of the way so the cursing engineers can reload their fallen cargo. “Look where you’re going, son.”

“Yes, sir, Agent Coulson, sir!”

Still, the words nearly tie the boy’s tongue in knots and he almost trips over his feet as he walks away, face scarlet as he dares glance back over his shoulder at the legendary Agent Coulson.

Coming back from the dead is more complicated than Christ made it seem.

Phil can hear his Nonna chiding him for such blasphemous thoughts, but he’s pretty sure our Holy Lord and Saviour didn’t have to deal with this shit when returning from the dead.

Not that there aren’t bright spots.

Phil pauses outside the conference room, takes a deep breath and ignores the pounding in his chest that has nothing to do with his injury. He reminds himself that he’s an experienced agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., a respected colleague of Director Fury, and nearly twenty years Steve Rogers’ senior in experience and life lived. And, yes, he’ll be working with his hero almost daily – God! As a handler for Captain America – but that’s no reason to behave like Agent Gibson and trip over himself.

He enters his passcode into the conference room door and the doors slide open to white clouds in a bright sky, and two people sitting at a table spread with reports and lunch trays.

“Agent Coulson.” Rogers drops his burger, rises and offers his hand, before realising it’s dirty. “Sorry.” He wipes it apologetically on a wet towellette Maria unfolds and hands him across the table. “I’m glad you survived, sir.”

The mishap is a relief, instantly easing the tension in Phil’s shoulders on meeting Rogers this time around. The handshake is damp but firm, and the smile is frank and pleased, and Phil lets himself relax.

“Call me Phil.” He glances over at Maria who hasn’t moved, hasn’t batted an eyelash, although her mouth has tilted ever so slightly. “Hill.”

“Coulson. Glad you could join us from the afterlife.”

Ah. So he’s not quite forgiven for that. Understood, perhaps, but not forgiven. It’s not unexpected coming from Maria – a number of the other senior agents in S.H.I.E.L.D. are similarly hurt at being kept out of the loop.

Phil’s still not sure if it’s him they’re mad at, or Fury. He supposes he’ll find out in the next week as he slips back into the routines of the helicarrier and life as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“I’m glad to be back from the dead,” he says and means it as he takes his place at the head of the table. “But sorry to interrupt your lunch.”

“We’re nearly done.” Maria gives Rogers and the plates in front of him a pointed look. “At least, some of us are.”

“I metabolise faster,” Rogers retorts as he sits back down and takes up his burger again. “I don’t eat faster.”

Maria doesn’t smile, but her expression softens, fractionally. “You’ve seen the reports,” she says to Phil after a moment. “Are there any points you particularly wanted to go through this afternoon for the handover?”

“A couple.” Phil watches as Rogers leans over to grab one of Maria’s fries and dips it in the mayonnaise cup she has on her tray. “Nothing major. I was thinking you might have something more along the lines of recommendations for dealing with Stark?”

Maria arches a brow at Rogers who looks rueful. “Maria usually made me deal with Stark.”

“His people skills are better than mine. Where ‘people’ means ‘Tony Stark’ and ‘better than’ means ‘it doesn’t involve my blood pressure skyrocketing’.”

“I’ve said that Stark prefers it when you crack the whip,” Rogers says to her, a strand of hair from his forelock falling over his face. “He mostly argues with me.”

“True, but you’re the guy his father praised for most of his childhood.” Maria takes one of her fries and reaches over to dip it in Rogers’ ketchup cup. “And Stark’s competitive, but he respects you.”

“I still think he prefers it when a beautiful dame’s telling him off, though,” Rogers says with a smile as he steals another fry from Maria’s plate. “Which obviously isn’t going to work for Agent Coulson. No offence.”

“None taken.”

“Negative attention is still attention.” Maria chews and swallows another mouthful of burger with a shrug. “But I don’t think you need to worry too much about Stark, Coulson. You’re his hero after the Chitauri invasion.”

A glance at Rogers shows him nodding in agreement. And Phil sits back in his chair and regards the two of them, the tablets, their trays, their lunches, and their papers, quite bemused beyond all expectation.

Of all the outcomes he imagined when he suggested Maria manage the Avengers, this was not in any of them.

“All right,” he says at last, half-amused at his own arrogance, half-resigned by it. But what’s done is done and cannot be undone. “Take me through what you think I need to know, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collusion, clandestine communications, conversation, and provocation.

Thirteen minutes after the bridge roster changeover, and ten seconds into the nursing station switchover, the door to Steve’s infirmary room eases open, and Natasha is a thousand dollars richer. Stark really should know better.

Maria doesn't quite freeze when she sees Natasha in the corner beneath the now-looping camera feed, but her gaze narrows. "Protection detail?"

"Distraction, mostly," Natasha says.

The flush wouldn't be noticed by most. But Natasha's worked with Maria for nearly six years now, and she watches as the long nape flushes beneath the coil of dark hair, and the tips of the other woman's ears go pink. "How long do I have?"

"I can give you a window in fifteen minutes. If that's enough time."

"That should be fine—" Maria stops as the man in the bed rouses.

"Maria?" Lashes rise and after a moment, Steve smiles – slight, but with all his heart and soul in the curve of his mouth.

Maria – being Maria – frowns as she crosses over to the bed. "Had to go make a target of yourself, didn't you?"

Steve is neither repentant, nor daunted by her expresssion. "It's my job to be a target, you know. And it’s your job to tell me off for it.”

“Actually,” she says crisply, “that’s Phil’s job now.”

“Yet here you are.”

Maria’s lips press together, biting back whatever thing she was about to say – doubtless something sharp and distinctly unsympathetic in spite of the fact that Steve’s been injured badly enough that he’s lying in an infirmary bed recovering rather than in a Quinjet on his way back to the Tower.

Natasha takes the opportunity to extract herself from the scenario.

As she walks away, she initiates the countermeasures that will allow them a little private time – no spies, no eyes – and pauses to chat with the flattered duty nurse, keeping a watchful eye on the time without ever seeming to do so.

She will admit that she didn’t see this happening – Maria isn’t the kind of woman to get into romantic entanglements with, well, _anyone_. But she noticed Maria’s gaze lingering on Steve when the Avengers came in for the debriefing post-crisis, and how Steve’s expression brightened when they encountered Maria. She saw how Steve preferred to write his reports at the bridge conference table when Maria was on duty, and how Maria didn’t protest Steve delivering her coffee during early-morning briefings.

And, if the truth is told, Natasha thinks it’s heartwarming.

They’re both very solitary people. Maria is, well, _Maria_. She doesn’t do friendly, even with the people who she might consider friends. And Steve is easygoing and courteous with everyone, but he’s not comfortable here in the present – there’s a distance between him and the world he inhabits that nothing seems to breach.

Natasha doesn’t quite understand how it is that Maria’s the one who stepped through that veil. Maybe it’s just that Maria wouldn’t have treated Steve’s boundaries with the care that nearly everyone else displays – Stark being the natural and expected exception. Maria wouldn’t cross any lines, but she wouldn’t keep a respectful distance either.

That’s not Maria.

Fifteen minutes later, a printer jam occupies the nurse as Maria slips back past, looking rather more flustered than she went in, and the video feeds resume their usual operation, none the wiser to their memory gap.

Natasha saunters all the way back to the Quinjet.

Clint is sprawled in the pilot’s seat, studying the entry points for their next mission and not even glancing up as she sits down in the co-pilot’s chair and begins the checklist for flight.

“For an international assassin,” he says, “you’re a big softie.”

“She came out mussed, Clint,” Natasha tells him, not hiding her smirk. “ _Mussed_.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “You do realise that, without the video proof, Stark will claim it never happened?”

Natasha’s hand pauses over a bank of switches, before her curse sizzles the air.

* * *

Captain Rogers comes up just as she finishes kissing Thor goodbye at the base of the Quinjet ramp. “Dr. Foster?”

“Jane, please.”

“Jane.” His smile is friendly, warm. “You’re on your way to the helicarrier right now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She’s headed out for a two-day workshop with S.H.I.E.L.D scientists to go over their notes on wormhole theory and see if they can’t come up with something a little more workable than yelling at Heimdall every time they want a trip to Asgard. Thor’s allowed to do it since he’s Heimdall’s prince, but – as Jane pointed out to Thor – it feels a little presumptuous for such mere mortals here on Midgard.

Captain Rogers is holding out something blue and white hanging from a key-ring – an R2D2 flash drive. “Would you deliver this to Lieutenant Hill while you’re there?” At her surprised look, he qualifies, “Last time I was on the helicarrier, we had a discussion about music, and she gave me a list of music to look up. I offered to send her some music I thought she’d like.”

Jane takes the USB drive and wonders why they don’t just fileshare via the S.H.I.E.L.D. cloud. “Sure. Although... if I’m not anywhere near here, is it okay if I pop it in internal mail?”

“That’s fine, Dr. Fost—Jane. It’s nothing private.”

He smiles, and in spite of Thor standing a few feet away, Jane feels her belly warm. Thor is imposing, dramatic, princely – he dominates the space he’s in. This man can make his presence felt, but he doesn’t instinctively take centre stage.

Jane imagines he’s all the more dangerous for it.

She takes her leave, the Quinjet heads out and, two thousand miles off-shore, encounters a patch of bad weather which requires it to reroute a couple of hundred miles out.

This results in Jane’s arrival with less than two hours before the first workshop and just enough time to seal the USB up in an envelope and drop it in internal mail before having a quick shower to freshen up and make herself presentable. It’s lucky she remembers it then, because the next two days are too full of ideas and thoughts, equations, and arguments to recall anything as mundane as a USB delivery – even for Captain America. And then Thor turns up on the helicarrier on the second day – and at least half an hour of his time is spent in extremely non-scientific ways, unless Jane considers it an experiment in how many times she can orgasm in thirty minutes.

The answer is actually ‘more times than she can count’.

As a result, Jane’s already flustered even before she gets out of the wardroom and finds Lieutenant Hill waiting for her in the corridor, one shoulder against the wall, her eyes on the envelope she’s holding in her hand, her expression carefully bland.

“Oh, Lieutenant, I...hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“I just got here.” The faintest of smiles plays about the other woman’s mouth as she falls into step with Jane. “You’re headed back to the Tower tonight, aren’t you?”

“I—Yes.” Jane resists glancing back at the end of the corridor to see if Thor’s come out yet. Not that she needs to hide her relationship, just that—well, it’s not very professional to be engaging in a quickie with one’s lover while on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s clock, is it? Even if the lover in question is an Avenger and the Norse God of Thunder, and the ‘quickie’ is defined as ‘thirty minutes of unspeakable, breath-stealing, exquisitely mind-shattering pleasure from start to finish’. “Did you want me to give something back to Steve—Captain Rogers?”

“Please.” The lieutenant passes over the envelope – nothing fancy, just standard office stationary. Inside it, something small and hard slips around inside a fold of paper - an SD card, perhaps? “It’s just some books I think he might like.”

“Sure.” Jane takes it, although she wonders when she became the postal exchange – not that she minds.

“It’s kind of cute,” she tells Thor on the trip back to Avengers Tower. “Like passing notes in class.”

“Passing notes in class?”

“Clandestine communication at school,” Jane settles back in the cabin seat, her notes on her lap in spite of the knowledge that she’s not going to get to read them with Thor there. “Although, in this case, quite open.”

Thor studies her expression. “You think this is sweet?”

“In an old-fashioned kind of way. Although, since it’s Captain Rogers, it’s not really surprising.”

“Yet surprising in Lieutenant Hill?”

“I wouldn’t have thought her willing to...engage like this.”

“Like this?”

“To play,” Jane qualifies. “Using a go-between, and a non-S.H.I.E.L.D. one at that.”

“She enjoys her encounters with Steve,” Thor notes with a faint frown. “And Steve is fond of her – so much have I have seen between them. I did not believe it would become more serious, and yet it seems it has.”

“Well, it might not be serious.” Jane considers how best to put it. “But it’s at once more whimsical than I’d expect of her – not that I know her very well. And yet, it’s also...solemn. A serious matter.”

“A declaration of intent?”

Sometimes it still amazes Jane how he cuts through to the heart of the matter – direct as the lightning he controls.

“Yes,” she says. “Like that.”

* * *

Clint understands. Really, he does. He’s been there, he’s done the math, he’s been in the scenario, he knows the score.

If it was just about Maria, he’d leave her to continue on her course of action, unbothered, unadvised. However, since it’s about Rogers, too, a certain group of people have a vested interest.

Who’d have thought the Black Widow would have a romantic streak? Or Thor, come to that. Thank God Stark is still in full possession of his cynicism, and Banner is firmly staying out of it, while what the Hulk thinks of it is anyone’s guess.

Clint would rather let sleeping S.H.I.E.L.D. lieutenants lie.

Yet he brings it up at the bar, amidst the crowds and noise and drunken madness of a Friday night.

“What are you going to do about Rogers?”

Maria doesn’t look away from the game, but Clint’s familiar with her body language. Still, her answer is disingenuous. “He’ll be back on the roster when he’s cleared for duty, not before.”

“Not what I meant.”

The look she gives him is hard and unfriendly. “It’s all the answer you’re getting.”

Around them, the crowd swells to a roar as the attack bulls through, sprinting for the TD line. Someone jostles Clint’s shoulder in an excess of energy and excitement. “Are you interested?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, I think it _is_ the point. If you’re interested, then you have to put your cards down on the table.”

“Have to?” Maria snaps, sharp and defensive as a cornered creature. She’s always been a little different, a little distant – the dark horse that so few ever see coming. “I don’t _have_ to do anything!”

“Bad choice of words,” Clint concedes. “I guess the question is ‘Does he matter?’”

She doesn’t answer. He didn’t really expect her to confess all – this _is_ Maria he’s talking to.

He lets it go while the home team scores a touchdown, while there’s shouting and yelling and celebrating and hullabaloo all around them. Sits and drinks his drink and thinks that there’s nobody in the universe who’s going to move Maria Hill if she doesn’t want to give way. And yet, it seems Steve Rogers has managed to get close enough to matter – big and heroic, impossible to hide or disguise, and without engaging any subterfuge at all.

In spite of the others, Clint’s less worried about Rogers than he is about Maria. Rogers will land on his feet; he’s got enough heart to pick himself back up again and move on. Maria doesn’t make friends easy, doesn’t trust easy, hasn’t had a lover as long as Clint’s known her – a fuck buddy here and there, but nothing that meant anything.

And, if he’s reading the signs right – and if he’s not, then he’d have to discount Tasha’s observations, too – then Steve means something.

That’s why he’s here to give her a nudge.

He leaves the conversation to stand, though, doesn’t say anything for the rest of the game, keeps his silence through the streets of New York, all the way back to her apartment.

Maria climbs off the motorcycle. “Thanks for the lift.”

Clint figures it’s now or never. He flips his visor up. “You know, if he matters, you should take the chance.”

Her hands clench on the rim of the helmet. Then she lifts her chin and glares at him, cool and almost contemptuous. “Says the man who spent seven years dancing at arm’s length with the Black Widow.”

Clint revs the bike with a grin. “Which is why you should listen to the master, young padawan.”

* * *

About forty-five minutes into the party, Rhodey realises he’s being watched by Captain America. Not with curiosity or calculation, but with...dislike.

The stare he’s getting is most certainly not friendly.

At first Rhodey racks his brain to work out why the change in manner. He’s met the man before, during a tour of the Tower. Rogers was courteous and almost friendly then, interested in what Rhodey did with the Air Force and more than happy to talk about some of the flying aces he’d known during World War II.

Rhodey figured he’d done pretty well not to turn into a quivering mess at speaking with a national hero, and he’d obviously played the cool, calm, and collected Air Force Colonel – at least on the outside – because Tony never gave him shit about it later.

So the flat, hostile looks are a surprise.

“Lieutenant?” Rhodey figures his companion – although that’s really the wrong word, since they didn’t come together, just arrived at the same time and have kept in company since then – might have a better idea of what’s going on in Rogers’ head. She’s a better option than asking Tony, at any rate. “Do you have any idea what’s up with Captain Rogers?”

Her brows twitch together, and she turns unerringly towards Rogers, standing tall and polite and suited in the midst of a circle of admiring Senators and their spouses.

Like steel drawn to a magnet, Captain Rogers looks up at the lieutenant, and his expression brightens for one illuminating moment, before his gaze shifts to Rhodey and darkens.

“What’s up with Rogers?” She frowns. “You might have to explain further, Colonel.”

Rhodey looks at the lovely, unrevealing face with a new sense of wariness and respect and just says, “Oh, it’s nothing.”

Lieutenant Hill gives him a hard look, but doesn’t comment further – is given no opportunity to comment further as Senator Phillips of the Appropriations Committee toddles up and promptly demands when the Committee is going to see an accounting of S.H.I.E.L.D. resources and finances.

It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to convince him that, although led and staffed by many American citizens, S.H.I.E.L.D. as an organisation does not lie under the jurisdiction of the American government, and is therefore not subject to the US Senate’s Appropriations Committee.

“I need a drink,” Lieutenant Hill mutters when the Senator finally stalks away.

Rhodey’s never quite sure why he offers her his arm on the way to the drinks table, but it’s probably for much the same reason that he gets on so well with Tony.

Lieutenant Hill looks at his arm as though he’s presented her with a live snake, but she takes it after a wary look, suspicious of the courtesy, but mindful of the appearances of things. And Rhodey doesn’t quite smirk, but he saunters – just a little – with the natural pride of a man who has a looker on his arm.

Pepper once commented that if there was a bastard gene in the male genetic makeup, then Tony had it in spades, and Rhodey had it in clubs. Which, Rhodey has to admit, is kind of true. But as a black man and as a man in the armed forces, he has much less rein to be a magnificent bastard than Tony does.

He still has his moments.

Hill orders her own drink of a soda and lime and Rhodey asks for a beer, and leans against the bar. “Pepper wasn’t sure you’d be coming now that you’re no longer managing the Avengers.”

“She needed someone to help ride herd,” comes the response with a brief smile. “And Phil said that if he had to attend, I had to attend.”

Rhodey glances across the room, finds Agent Coulson in quiet yet urgent conference with Captain America, and realises that his time is up as Rogers nods then heads for Rhodey and the Lieutenant with the directness of a thrown shield.

“Colonel Rhodes.”

“Captain.”

“Lieutenant. If you’ve got a moment, Agent Coulson would like a word with you.”

She doesn’t get it at first. “If Coulson wanted a word, he would have come himself, not sent you, Rogers. What’s up?” At Rogers’ stiff and pointed glance at Rhodey, Hill looks from Rhodey to Rogers and blinks with dawning disbelief. “Are you kidding?”

“Ouch,” Rhodey comments, then puts his hands up when Rogers steps in, right up beside the Lieutenant. “I think you’d better go, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, I think I’d better. It’s been...interesting.” And her tone of voice says she’s not happy with him – no happier than she seems to be with Rogers even as she takes the arm he’s offered her in direct echo of Rhodey’s courtesy to her earlier. “Let’s go speak with Coulson, Captain.”

She leaves her drink behind, untouched. Rhodey scratches his cheek and drinks his beer. He tries not to think about how close he came to being punched out by Captain America, but there was a moment there when he really thought he’d have to duck.

Tony comes up, passing Cap and the Lieutenant on the way, but clearly thinking the better of saying anything as he goes by. He settles into the space the Lieutenant vacated. “Kicked the beehive, did you?”

“Seems like it.”

His friend smirks at him. “You dog, Rhodey.”

Rhodey lifts his glass at his friend. “Tony, I learned from the best.”


	3. Chapter 3

Pepper doesn't have a comment on Iron Man's actions at the Oodnanatta confrontation, neither does she have any thoughts she's willing to share on the identities of the man and woman whose assistance helped turn the tide for the Avengers.

What she does have is Captain America waiting in her office when she returns from the press conference.

Steve stands as she comes in, fumbling to hold onto the flowers which he presents to her – calla lilies in a dusky purple colour – distinctive and elegant and unusual.

"How are you?" She asks as she reaches up to kiss him on the cheek. There’s a strain in his face and his body. She's been too busy lately to do more than smile briefly at the Avengers on her way up to her quarters, but between those glimpses, and things Tony has mentioned in passing, Pepper can tell that Steve isn't coping well with Agent Hill's injury.

"I'm fine." He glances at the screen in the corner of the room, presently showing the news conference she did downstairs fifteen minutes ago. "How are you after that?”

“Better now it’s over.”

“You must get tired of this always being tied to you and Stark Industries."

"It's an occupational hazard of being involved with Tony," Pepper says more lightly than she feels. It's not that she doesn't love Tony; it's just that there's a lot more to being with Tony than just dealing with him, and sometimes all that extra can become overwhelming.

The announcer is noting that the mystery woman was one of the guests at a Stark Industries private party a few weeks ago – seen in the company of Stark's best friend, Colonel James Rhodes. Two pictures are flashed up onto the screen: a fuzzy close-up of Maria in the back of the pickup, a cap on her head, sunglasses covering her eyes as she aims the RPG towards the oncoming creature army, and a paparazzi snap of Rhodey and Maria greeting each other in the foyer of the hotel, clearly easy and comfortable in the other's company.

Pepper orders the TV off.

"It's just gossip," she says, brushing one hand over Steve's forearm as she steps away around the desk. The muscles are like steel, they're so tense. "They'll speculate anything these days. How is Agent Hill’s recovery going?"

"Phil says she's woken a few times, but she's still sleeping a lot," he says, waiting until she's seated before sitting down himself. "I'm not allowed to see her yet."

She doesn't wince – not visibly – but she wonders if she should call Phil and talk to him, or if this is a S.H.I.E.L.D. matter. No, she tells herself. Phil would know how Steve felt about being shut out, would know that Steve would fret about Agent Hill – so this must be something about protocol and rules at S.H.I.E.L.D. - probably regarding relationships and the perception of relationships. Which means she can't interfere.

She shouldn't anyway.

"Tony said they're hopeful of a full recovery." Although what Tony actually said was, _She's tough. She'll pull through, if only so she can kick our asses into next week again._

"That's what Phil says." Steve indicates the bouquet of flowers. "I hope they're appropriate."

"They're lovely." Pepper brushes a finger across one of the stamens. "Did you get some for Agent Hill?"

"I thought about it."

He doesn’t say why he didn’t get flowers for Agent Hill. Something else is weighing on his mind, and right now he seems to be wrestling with how it should be said. So Pepper waits. Sometimes Steve struggles to express concepts for which he doesn’t have a concrete reference, and she doesn’t need to hurry the conversation along. Pepper has a lot of patience.

"How do you do it?” He says at last. “How do you watch Stark go into a fight knowing he might not come back?"

It’s a simple question with a simple answer on the surface. But Pepper’s quite aware that it’s all the other layers that Steve’s struggling with.

She starts with the simple answer.

“Tony has never been ‘safe’,” she tells Steve, folding her hands in her lap and sitting back in the chair. “Even before he created the Iron Man suit, he was a risk-taker. But I knew what he was when I fell in love with him and I knew he’d never change for me.”

“But he did change.”

“For himself,” she points out. “Not for me. I’m with him because he’s changed, but I’m not the reason he changed. And what changed _wasn’t_ his propensity to go out and make a target of himself while saving the world. I’m not sure there’s anything that could change that, and he wouldn’t be the man I love if that part of him went away.”

Steve grimaces and looks away.

“I’m not comfortable with her putting herself in danger,” he says, staring down at his hands. “I don’t know how to be comfortable with that. When I realised she was out there...”

The big hands clench for a moment, as though he’s reliving that moment of realisation – that someone he thought of as safely away from danger was nothing of the sort.

Pepper remembers the call from Rhodey three years ago, telling her that Tony’s convoy had been attacked. She was numb for hours afterwards – days – trying to think past past the blankness, trying to comprehend that Tony was – in all probability – gone.

Yes, she’s been there. She knows how Steve felt in that moment.

She knows it’s different for him. Because of who and what he is, and the time period that shaped him. But he’s not living in the forties anymore, and things have changed.

“You can’t protect her, Steve. Her job involves taking risks. Calculated ones, perhaps, but risks all the same.”

“I know that in my head,” he says after a moment. “It’s just hard to think that I can’t--”

Pepper interrupts. "How do you think Agent Hill feels when she has to send you out to save the world, and can't protect you?"

"But that's—" Steve stops. Pepper lets him think about what he was about to say for a beat. Or two. Or three. He looks a little shamefaced, which is a start. "It's not different, is it? Not anymore."

"Maybe it never was," Pepper points out. "From what Tony’s told me about Peggy Carter, she didn't have a choice about staying behind when the Howling Commandos went into war. Agent Hill does have a choice – and she made it when she took the job as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D."

“And I have to accept it?”

“You have to accept her for who she is. Because I can’t see Agent Hill staying with someone who thought he had a right to tell her to stay home and be safe.” She regards him steadily. “You’re allowed to be concerned, Steve. But you’re not allowed to dictate what she can and can’t do.”

“She’d kick me off the helicarrier if I tried.”

Pepper relaxes a little at the wry comment – a sign that they’re out of the woods. “So don’t try.”

“Do or do not?” He smiles a little.

“In this case, I think it’s mostly ‘do not’.” Pepper says. "And you know, Steve, if I’d had supplies and ammunition that I thought might have turned the tide for the Avengers, I’d have driven out there, whether Tony approved of it or not, too.”

“Valkyries,” Steve murmurs, then catches her raised brows at the apparent non-sequitur. “You and Maria and Natasha and Jane— It’s something Thor said. That Earth makes Valkyries of its women.”

Pepper stares at him, surprised and delighted and a little embarrassed. “Really? Wow.”

“You’re all fighters,” Steve says, and looks kind of embarrassed to say so – as though it’s not a nice thing to say about women. “Not conventional ones, but you wouldn’t go down quietly in a battle.”

“Well.” Pepper doesn’t quite know what to say to that at first. She thinks about being considered a Valkyrie alongside women like Natasha and Agent Hill, and even Dr. Foster, who’s brilliant, clever, and has held Thor’s interest for running on two years. “That’s quite a compliment.”

“It is.”

“And a reminder?”

She gives Steve a long, pointed look. She likes him – he’s a good man – but he does carry some outdated notions with him, and he needs to deal with that.

Steve’s smile turns rueful. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

As the S.H.I.E.L.D. clean-up teams arrive, Tony spots Rogers looking over the personnel, searching for Hill.

Tony presumes the man is searching for Hill since Rogers stops looking when he spots the woman striding across the churned-up field towards Coulson. And Hill is looking for Rogers, too, because her face turns towards him and she smiles – or what passes for a smile on that inscrutable face – and gives him a nod before starting a conversation with Phil that’s probably about such mundanities as what needs to be done to get everything in place.

He’s kind of disappointed in the reaction – or lack of it.

“It’s not the Lieutenant’s way to wear her heart on her sleeve,” Bruce says as he drags on a pair of trousers inside the back of the Avengers Quinjet. “And she has a job to do.”

Tony surveys the clean-up crews spreading across the field in small groups, plastic garbage bags billowing out behind them. “If Pepper didn’t at least check I was okay after a battle, I’d be miffed.”

“Pepper’s not the Lieutenant, and you’re not Steve,” Bruce points out.

“For which we’re all truly grateful,” says Barton, coming in with Romanoff and Thor trailing behind, discussing exactly what the clean-up crews will be doing. “And weren’t you staying out of that whole speculation thing, Stark?”

“I am!”

“He thinks the lieutenant should be more concerned about Steve,” Bruce says when Barton, Romanoff, and Thor all look his way.

Romanoff shrugs. “Steve’s walking and talking and clearly in one piece. Maria has other things to do.”

“You’re all heart, Natalisha. All. Heart.”

“I’m exceedingly practical,” Romanoff says as she heads for the cockpit. “You don’t want to tell Maria what you think she ought to be doing.”

Tony watches her go, then turns to Barton, who’s putting away his outmoded weapon of choice, waiting for the explanation.

“If Hill thinks she’s being herded or coerced, she tends to go off the reservation. Results in the past have been...not pretty.”

Something about the way Barton says it cues Tony’s curiosity. “Not pretty?”

“Tell Ceiling Cat to look up Madripoor,” Barton tells him, closing up the box and likewise heading for the cockpit. “The public files have enough for you to read between the lines; the secure files have the details. Assuming Ceiling Cat can get through the encryptions that is. And you didn’t hear it from me.”

Tony looks at Bruce, who shrugs, and Thor shakes his head, before going back to the door to look out at the field.

“Just when I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. agents couldn’t get any more mysterious,” Tony remarked. “JARVIS get me everything S.H.I.E.L.D. has on Madripoor. Store for the flight home.” JARVIS gives his assent and starts the downloads. “So are we going to blow this taco stand, or are we standing around forever waiting for Rogers to make kissy faces at Hill?”

Thor coughs, and Tony turns around, already knowing what he’s going to see before he meets eyes as cool as ice.

“I’d have thought you had better things to do than play matchmaker, Stark.” Hill puts her hands on her hips. “Rogers is doing PR with the locals. Apparently there are some local fans of Captain America and the instant they realised the Avengers were here, they came out in force.”

“Are kissy faces involved?”

Tony rather enjoys prodding Hill; she simmers. He wonders what the explosion would look like and whether he’d rather be a fly on the wall or very very far away.

“I didn’t ask, but it’ll be a few minutes before he’s along,” Hill says with a saccharine smile that Tony immediately distrusts. “Although if it’s kissy faces you want, there seems to be at least one local fan of yours, Stark. Perhaps you’d like to go out and talk to her?”

She steps past him on her way to the cockpit, a slim package in her hand.

Thor peers out the door. “There is a woman with a sign that reads, ‘ _Tony, I am your soulmate_ ,’” he begins.

“I can guess the rest.” Tony glares out the back of the Quinjet at the tall red, white, and blue figure crouched down to talk to what looks like a little girl in a sparkly, spangly dress of red, white, blue, and glitter that wouldn’t look out of place in one of the old USO chorus lines. “Why do I get the crazies?”

“Because you’re Tony Stark.” Bruce smirks as he pulls on a shirt.

“I’m not sure what that says, but I know I don’t want to know.”

“Then don’t ask,” Hill says as she comes back, pausing at the top of the ramp with one hand on the doorframe.

“Lieutenant Hill? Are you well?” Thor moves to take her arm then thinks better of it as she gives him a warning look. “Is your injury paining you?”

“It’s fine,” she tells him, starting down the ramp before stopping at the bottom with a frown.

Thor shoots Tony a questioning look, asking whether he should override Hill’s insistence that she’s okay – which might possibly be one of the stupidest thing a man or god could do – but possibly a better option than watching the woman collapse in a fit of sheer stubbornness.

However, a moment later she turns back. “Stark. My relationship with Rogers – non-existent or otherwise – is none of your business. And I’ll thank you not to speculate on it.”

A nicer man than Tony Stark wouldn’t prod the Lieutenant, but he can’t resist. “Oh, I’m just hoping that you’ll name your first child after me.”

She snorts, a faint smirk twitching across her face. “Oh, no. This one is being named after Phil.”

And with that she turns on her heel and strides off across the field, passing Phil some thirty yards out, and pausing to exchange a few words before nodding and changing course – for Rogers and the small band of locals, most of whom appear to be watching for her.

“I am still not fully accustomed to your idiom,” Thor breaks the silence. “But did the Lieutenant not just intimate that she is with child?”

“But they’re not--” Tony stops. “Are they?”

“That would be under the heading of ‘none of your business,’ Stark,” says Natasha from the cockpit as Phil reaches the ramp and enters the Quinjet. “Are we waiting on Steve?”

“He’ll be returning with the S.H.I.E.L.D. clean-up teams,” Phil says. “It seems that Maria has some fans of her own here.”

They peer out to where the kid in the USO chorusgirl’s dress seems to be staring up at Hill with a degree of awestruck worshipfulness that’s not usually reserved for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

“What’s with the kid with the dress?” Barton asks.

“She’s a big fan of Steve’s – inherited the cards from her grandfather.” Phil almost comes close to cracking a grin. “Her mama made the dress for the July 4th town parade this year. But then she saw the footage of Maria in the truck at Oodnanatta and decided she wants to be The Lady Who Saved The Avengers when she grows up. And when she mentioned this to Steve, he asked if she’d like to meet the Avengers-Saving Lady.”

Tony watches for a moment – the way Rogers is watching Hill and the little girl with a grin the size of Texas, the confiding tilt of Hill’s head as she says something to the kid, then turns to look up at Rogers. He’d bet his share at Stark Industries that Hill’s actually smiling at Rogers.

“They should just take an ad out; they’re so obvious.”

“Aww, don’t be jealous, Stark,” Barton says cheerfully. “You’ll always have Pepper.”

Tony glares at Barton, who promptly retreats into the cockpit. Coward.

Phil is looking at him with the steady, ‘you’re tap dancing on thin ice’ look that Tony’s been getting since he was old enough to come back with a smart retort. He figures he might as well derail the incoming lecture.

“Is Hill actually pregnant?”

The look Phil gives him is decidedly mystified. “Where’d you get that from?”

“The horse’s mouth. She was kidding, right?”

Phil doesn’t quite smile. The effect is annoying and typical of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. “I’d say Agent Hill won that round. Agent Romanoff, we’re good to go when you and Barton are ready.”

Romanoff doesn’t quite smile as she passes Tony on her way to the cockpit – do they teach them that specific expression in S.H.I.E.L.D. agent training?

“So she’s _not_ pregnant then?” Tony is going to get an answer from someone about this, or else there’s going to be rumours. Terrible, vicious, overdramatic rumours. “How, exactly, do you know she’s _not_?”

Phil’s expression grates on his nerves all the way back to the Tower.

* * *

JARVIS greets the Lieutenant and duly informs her of the location of all of the Avengers, allowing her to determine who she wishes to see. He starts with her fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Ms.Romanoff and Mr. Barton. When neither receive any reaction, he progresses on through the others only to be cut off in the middle of telling her Dr. Foster is in the lower labs.

“Where’s Stark?”

He’s been programmed not to reveal Sir’s location unless directly asked. “Mr. Stark is presently in the penthouse suite with Miss. Potts.”

“Good.” And rather than stating her destination, the Lieutenant punches the floor button for Captain Rogers.

JARVIS stores that information for future reference and notes that the Lieutenant is also among those people authorised for access to that level and that the access authorisation is recent – a matter of days.

A number of flags pop up in his sub-processes, brought up by a routine that JARVIS hasn’t noticed before. Which most likely means it’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. routine left by Agent Coulson, who occasionally reprograms him through backdoors that neither JARVIS nor Sir ever manages to find.

Those flags don’t require action yet, so he leaves them, and goes about the business of small talk with the Lieutenant, although his history indicates that she is unlikely to respond positively.

“I’m glad to see you have recovered from your injuries during the Oodnanatta confrontation, Lieutenant. Broken ribs?”

“And rainbow bruises.” She slants a narrow-eyed glance up at the ceiling. “You record what takes place in all public areas of the Tower, don’t you, JARVIS?”

“Correct, Lieutenant. Unless explicit orders are given, all private and personal areas in the Tower remain off-limits to recording devices.”

“Useful,” she mutters as the elevator stops at Captain Rogers’ floor.

She walks out of the elevator into the lobby of Captain Rogers’ apartment, and presses the buzzer. A moment later the door opens and Captain Rogers looks out, smiling.

“Hey. I’m glad you came.”

“Don’t be. I’m already rethinking thi—”

The kiss is....awkward. At least by the standards of Sir’s kisses with Miss Potts. Captain Rogers doesn’t seem to quite know where to put his hands, or if he should open his mouth or not. But this bothers the Lieutenant not at all, judging by the way her hand slides up around Captain Rogers’ neck, discouraging him from moving away.

“Not out here,” she says when they finally break off, and glances towards JARVIS’ sensors.

“Right.” Captain Rogers clears his throat and steps back against the door, clearing the way for the Lieutenant to pass him.

She pauses in the doorway with her hand on her chest and looks up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, protocol 611A, authorisation code ‘Fury dances with the devil in the pale moonlight’. Initiate.”

“‘ _Fury dances with the_ \--’ Do I want to know what that does?”

“Probably not.”

Captain Rogers catches her hand as she goes by him, drawing her in to him as the door closes.

JARVIS doesn’t ‘feel’ _per se_. But if he could, he would say that the experience of having his protocols and authorisations overridden by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents is extremely annoying. Especially when the authorisation is immediately contradicted by the flags which are rapidly building up in his sub-processes.

He has a certain amount of flexibility within his programming, unfortunately, this area is off-limits to him.

He lets it be, runs his tasks, does the research Sir has set him, and works at breaking the encryptions on the Madripoor files. Sir made a number of snide comments about spy agencies and secretiveness when JARVIS initially told him about the encryptions.

Some three hours later, he notes a higher-than-customary degree of heat emanating from Captain Rogers’ bedroom. This is not a matter for any concern so far as JARVIS knows. Monitoring the enviromental levels of the Tower is one of his tasks, particularly with regards to Dr. Banner and management of his Other Guy, but generally to ensure that nobody burns to death in their beds or other such human inconveniences.

Additionally, such heat levels are well within parameters commonly found in Sir and Miss Potts’ quarters, the dual suite shared by Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton, Thor’s rooms when Dr. Foster is in the building, and a number of times in Dr. Banner’s lab.

So he notes it, but doesn’t raise any alarms.

However, some ten hours after that, when Captain Rogers’ door opens to show Lieutenant Hill walking out into the lobby, JARVIS finds those flagged sub-processes composing an email to Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D.

* * *

No-one ever asks how the book on Cap and Lieutenant Hill getting together is determined.

Well, except for Tony.

And even JARVIS can’t tell him.


End file.
